The Hours
by katieupatree
Summary: "Seven am is a cup of coffee, sweet and strong and made with love. It is a 'good morning' mumbled against each other's lips..." This is a story of twenty-four hours in the lives of Castle and Beckett. Caskett / Rated T / Complete.


Hello everyone,  
This is just a little silliness to fill my Saturday afternoon. I hope that you enjoy..

**Disclaimer:** Everything and everyone belongs to their rightful owners, I am simply borrowing them for a little while.

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**The Hours**

**6am  
**Six am is the shock of life, the piercing cry of an alarm clock that seems to long for sleep just as much as those who it disturbs, the rude awakening of a day they weren't quite ready for.  
It is the stillness and the calm that follows. It is the heavy warmth of Castle's arms as he reaches across to her side of the bed. It is the cuddle of sleepy limbs and the blissful peace of their 'snooze' button. It is the longing to stay, to hide from the world and live beneath a blanket fort, to play a reckless game with the rules and turn up to work with flushed cheeks and an apology for being late. It is inevitably choosing to do what is right, even as the word tastes bitter to her needy lips.

**7am**  
Seven am is a cup of coffee, sweet and strong and made with love. It is a 'good morning' mumbled against each other's lips, the seconds drawing into minutes as Castle refuses to give up the pleasure of Kate's shower-blushed skin. It is the toast that burns and the smiles they share whilst eating it. It is domesticity; the crooked rhythm of a morning lived perfectly together.

**8am  
**Eight am is the New York air that already clings too close, promising heat and grime and life like no other city in the world. It is the commute that they could make with their eyes closed, every crack in the pavement and bump of the subway track a mirror of the day before, and it is the warmth of her hand in his that fills these mundane familiarities of life with the thrill of love. It is sitting a little too close, holding a little too tight, walking a little too slow; savouring every moment that they have together.

**9am**  
Nine am is Detective Kate Beckett. It is her mask of professionalism, a barrier between home and work, and the glimmer of her eyes that tells Castle she wishes it could be different.  
It is rules and regulations. It is pretending. It is make believe. It is the suspicious glance of Captain Gates and knowing that the future of their partnership rests in her hands, too precious to risk.

**10am  
**Ten am is boredom. It is the backlog of paperwork that they have all been putting off since their last case and finally having the time to get it finished. It is the reality of work, for everyone except Castle. It is playing Angry Birds, it is completing the final level, it is having to wait for the next update. It is restless legs and a wandering mind. It is Beckett's plea to _do something useful with his time_, and the warning tone of her voice that he has always found so tantalisingly sexy. It is seeing the disappointment written across her face as she reaches for her coffee – only to remember that it is already empty, and it is Castle's soft smile as he brings her a fresh cup, cream shaped to a heart and spiralled with caramel.

**11am  
**Eleven am is the affectionate teasing of Ryan and Esposito; it is the contagion of Castle's inability to ever just sit quietly, and Beckett's pretend irritation at them all. It is hiding her smile when Castle loses whatever ridiculous bet he made against the two of them, and the little bubble of childish love that pops against her ribs when he turns to look at her with those big, puppy dog eyes.  
It is the click of her pen lid and the case report that she promises herself she will finish later. It is the electric fizz that dances across her skin as Castle's fingertips brush against the sensitive spot of her hip, the tiniest flicker of daring as she rolls her chair over to join in with the conversation.

**12pm  
**Twelve pm is the call they had all been expecting, but had hoped wouldn't come. It is driving to the crime scene. It is coming up on traffic lights and not knowing if you want them to shine red or green. It is rolling to a stop just before the yellow tape, the cover of Castle's palm strong and reassuring as he waits for her, knowing that every day still feels a little like her first. It is the long, steadying breath that she takes before entering each crime scene, a remembrance for the victim and a vow to always fight for justice.

**1pm  
**One pm is an empty murder board that will soon be filled; the crisp, black timeline and the squeak of a freshly uncapped marker. It is the picture of Jenna Harris – taken almost three months ago, young and carefree and laughing into the camera as she had posed for the first ever photo taken in her new apartment. And it is the picture beside the first, a stark and heartbreaking comparison, the empty eyes of a beautiful girl whose life had been so brutally stolen.

**2pm  
**Two pm is the harrowing cry of grief, bitter and broken and numb. It is knowing how it feels to look into a stranger's eyes and beg them to tell you why, to place the crumbling remnants of your heart in their hands and trust that they will make it so you can breathe again. It is the hand that Beckett will hold for as long as Mrs. Harris needs and the promise that she will find the person responsible for Jenna's death, no matter what it takes.

**3pm**  
Three pm is waiting. It is waiting for Lanie to call and say that she has found something during autopsy. It is waiting for lab reports and tox screens and finger nail scrapings. It is waiting for Ryan and Esposito to return from their canvas of Jenna's apartment building. It is waiting for witnesses to come forwards. It is waiting for leads hidden beneath false truths and real fears. It is waiting for clues that aren't yet aware of their importance. It is waiting for phone records and a password protected laptop. It is waiting for the murder board to speak to her, for its boldly printed notes and missing pieces to fall into place and reveal the secrets that they hold.  
It is waiting...

**4pm  
**Four pm is the pumped-in air and artificial cold of the morgue, and the haunting strangeness of seeing the last living, breathing, fighting moments of a human life broken down into chemical compositions and bullet trajectories. It is the cold, unfeeling facts of science, and it is the love and respect with which Lanie uncovers them; the sorrow in her eyes as she greets Castle and Beckett, still there as she mathematically talks them through her initial report.

**5pm**  
Five pm is a break in the case, a thunderbolt of activity coursing through the very veins of the precinct; spirits carried high on the wings of hope. It is the team meeting lead by Gates, the attention with which they all listen so absolute that even Castle doesn't need a reminder to stay quiet – they all know this feeling, standing on the very edge of solving a case, no one willing to let their mistake be the chance that their suspect needs to escape justice.

**6pm**  
Six pm is a collective moment of silence. It is the little rituals that keep the fear at bay, silly and meaningless in the grand scheme of life, but desperately needed in the seconds before making an arrest. It is Ryan's thoughts of Jenny at home, their beautiful baby girl asleep in her arms. It is Esposito's determination to be home in time to catch a movie with Lanie that night. It is the look in Beckett's eye as she turns towards Castle; an 'I love you' without words, a promise to keep each other safe.  
It is the crackle of a walkie-talkie. It is a moment fractured by the immense roar of another. It is the rush of adrenaline as they hammer on the door. It is the fire escape they hear opening and the crashing splinter of wood. It is the command to stop, freeze, NYPD. It is the draw of a gun. It is the draw of three more. It is here. It is now.

**7pm  
**Seven pm is a broken man's confession. It is Benjamin Stark's legacy, scarred with the blood of the girl he claimed to have loved; a relationship turned ugly and painted with regrets, changed to an obsession intent on revenge. It is a violent act. It is a desperate act. It is a needless act.  
It is a childless mother questioning her strength to survive the world alone. It is a best friend seeking the comfort of yet another empty bottle. It is a neighbour wishing he had taken a little more time to get to know the girl who listened to Elvis when she cleaned and sang so sweetly to her favourite lines. It is cities never visited, books never read, food never tasted, songs never played, people never met, stories never created, laughter never heard, love never felt. It is the sorrow and the grief of a life wasted.

**8pm**  
Eight pm is longing to hold her, to kiss her, to love her so completely that the ache of the day melts at his fingertips and quakes at his lips. It is sitting, waiting, watching as Kate faces the murder board like a soldier faces a battle. It is the barely perceivable tremble of her hands as she unpins the photos and systematically clears the board. It is the silver locket that she personally collected from evidence, and it is holding her close as they take it to Mrs. Harris; as they take it home. It is knowing that she will be here again tomorrow, a new day and a clean slate, ready to hunt the demons of this tortuous world. It is bravery. It is courage. _It is Kate_.

**9pm  
**Nine pm is the hazy sunshine of a summer's night. It is the creak of cooling buildings and the floating laughter of open windows. It is knowing that life goes on; despite the horrors and the heartbreak of the entire human race pressing down upon it, life still goes on. It is the hope of something more. It is the dream of something better. It is fight. It is spark. It is determination. It is the little things that keep us going. It is the tiny flutterings of beauty and grace. It is all that we have.

**10pm**  
Ten pm is the welcome of home. It is shoes toed off as soon as she walks through the door and the whisper of floorboards beneath her sockless feet. It is the strength of Castle's embrace, senses filled with the musky scent of summer skin. It is letting go of Beckett and becoming Kate. It is allowing herself a moment of vulnerability, unarmed and unshielded. It is a playful kiss atop her nose, and the laughter she gifts him in return. It is two spoons and a tub of chocolate ice-cream for dinner. It is a glass of red wine and her favourite record. It is sitting on the sofa, legs tangled together and fingers entwined. It is the conversation that flows without thought. It is home. It is home. It is home.

**11pm**  
Eleven pm is a bath filled with vanilla bubbles. It is ten minutes of solitude, the rhythmic run of hot water and the weightlessness that it brings. It is a chance to recharge, to rest her weary mind and lose herself to daydreams. It is Castle's gentle tap at the door, seeming suddenly shy as he asks if she would like a little company. It is fifty minutes of togetherness. It is the clumsy splash of water and the bubbles he sends spilling over the edges. It is sitting top and tail. It is a Santa Claus beard and the taste of soap as he kisses her giggling lips. It is her body pressed to his.

**12am**  
Twelve am is needing to be loved. It is fierce kisses and harsh cries. It is glorious pain and bitten skin. It is hunger. It is passion. It is hot and quick and desperate.  
It is walking the line between ecstasy and despair.

**1am**  
One am is wanting to be loved. It is knowing every inch of her better than she could ever know herself. It is writing a book with kisses, a map of her skin and a poem of her soul. It is honouring her battle scars. It is touch and taste and sight and sound. It is slow and savouring. It is yearning. It is taking each other to the very edge of life, ever movement matched – made better – transformed into something so much more, and it is tumbling back to Earth perfectly in time. It is ragged breath and heaving lungs. It is salted skin and coursing blood. It is laughter that floods the sultry night air with a chorus of their love.

**2am  
**Two am is watching as she falls asleep in the circle of his arms. It is smoothing the crease of her brow, soothing away the monsters that hide there. It is a little girl lost in the world. It is the stillness of dreams. It is unworried, unstressed, unburdened. It is Kate Beckett as only Richard Castle will ever know. It is a treasure. It is an honour.  
It is loving her, _always_.

**3am**  
Three am is the dreamers' hour. It is the one you love. It is the one you lost. It is the stories your Dad told to you each night before bed. It is peace. It is joy. It is the hour that seeps into four am without you even noticing, and then into five. It is the space between the days. It is a time that doesn't really exist at all. It is belonging only to sleep, and the heart that beats steadily by your own.

**End.**

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Thank you ever so much for reading,  
Please let me know what you thought if you have a a moment to do so?

Also, I know that to solve a case in a single day isn't a common occurrence, but for my 'twenty-four hours' idea to work I needed to stray a little for reality. I hope that you didn't mind too much.

Katie xx


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